


Mycroft Knew

by shnuffeluv



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 'cos it implies Bad Stuff ahead, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Families of Choice, Gen, I think at any rate, I'm Sorry, Minor Character Death, Mycroft is Adopted, Original Character Death(s), Selectively Mute Character, Selectively Mute Mycroft, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, abuse of google translate, the ending kinda hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 16:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6617962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/shnuffeluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft knew the second that the men came into his parents house with guns something <em>wrong</em> was going on.<br/>Canon-compliantish with a dash of angst. Mycroft is adopted, and this is why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mycroft Knew

Mycroft knew the second that the men came into his parents house with guns something _wrong_ was going on. He made to go tell his parents but there was a loud _BANG_ and the boy figured that would let his parents know what was going on fairly quick. He closed his bedroom door enough that he could hide, but stuck one eye out to see what was going on. Someone was shouting in some language he didn't know. At a guess, it sounded like rapid-fire Spanish, but he hadn't learned enough of it yet to know for certain. There were three men he could see, and the one in the middle yelled,  " _Encuentra el hombre, rápidamente!_ "

The other two left, presumably to follow the first one's orders. Mycroft held his breath as the men came closer, and went into his father's study. They pulled his father out, who was stoically silent, and his mother, who was kicking and screaming. Mycroft didn't dare move, but his father looked over and saw him peeking through the crack in the door, a look of defeat on his face. _Stay quiet,_ he ordered with his eyes.

The leader walked up to his father. " _¿Hay alguien más aquí?_ "

"No," his father said. "It's just me and my wife."

The leader grinned like a shark. "Good. Then there will be no one to see you die. You should have listened to us when we first came to talk." He cocked the gun and shot Mycroft's father in the head.

Mycroft's eyes widened and he clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming. The leader turned to his mother. "Any last words?"

"You'll never find our son. You can hurt us, but he will live," his mother said. In an instant, her blood was everywhere.

Mycroft closed his eyes and shook his head rapidly. _No, no! Mum?! Dad?!_ The leader was talking again.  " _Vamanos!_ "

The men left and Mycroft exited his room slowly, approaching his parents. "M-mum? Dad..." he whispered, though he knew they wouldn't respond. He approached and saw the shattered remains of what once were his parents, and bit his hand in the effort to keep quiet. Dead. His parents were dead. He ran to the phone and dialed 999. But when the operator came on, he couldn't respond. All that came out was a choking noise and his shuttering breaths as he started to cry. The operator tried to calm him down, but nothing was working. He continued to cry as sirens could be heard in the distance. Police were the first on the scene and found Mycroft with blood soaking his socks curled up in a ball in the kitchen, pointing down the hall toward his room mutely. One of the officers went to check, while the other stayed with him. "Hey, there. Can you tell me your name?"

Mycroft froze. He didn't want to speak. What if the men came back and he needed to hide again? And his Dad had told him to stay quiet. Mycroft fervently shook his head, curled tight.

"Are you sure?" the officer prodded. "You look old enough to be able to speak. I know you understand me. What's your name?"

Mycroft just closed his eyes and shook his head again. He _needed_ to stay quiet. The officer next to him sighed as the other officer came back. "Two dead."

A sob wrenched itself from Mycroft's throat. Dead. The word rang hollow inside his skull. He didn't have any family outside his parents. He didn't know what they were going to do with him. The officers tried to comfort him as medics appeared in the house, followed by some confused firemen who needed the situation explained. The whole time Mycroft didn't say a word. No matter who was speaking to him. A social worker appeared and took him away, but not before Mycroft ran to his room and grabbed a picture of his parents and him at one of his football games. He stuck it in his pocket and then was escorted away from the crime scene. His house...was a crime scene. Though he supposed it wasn't his anymore.

* * *

Mycroft didn't look up as the social worker approached him, talking. He was in the middle of becoming fluent in Spanish. He had long ago figured out what the man had said to his father, and it only made him feel worse that his dad had died saving his life. It felt like it was his fault, somehow, even though logically he would be dead now too if he had spoken up. "...The poor thing doesn't speak at all. The doctors say it's probably from trauma. They managed to figure out that he saw the murder."

Twin gasps followed the statement. Mycroft flinched and marked his place in the book, looking up to see who was there this time. A young couple stood before him, a woman with light blonde hair and eyes of two different colors, and a brunet man who was looking at him with equal parts sympathy and respect. Next to them was the social worker who had been trying to find him a family for 3 months. But no one wanted a selectively mute kid who had seen his parents die. He stood up slowly and stiffly held out his hand, his standard greeting. There was something about this couple that made him comfortable. They reminded him of his parents, but not overly so.

The woman took his hand and shook it, and the man followed suit. "Hello, Mike," the man said. "We've heard a lot about you."

Mycroft couldn't meet the man's eyes. He knew it was rude, but the floor was much safer. The man sighed. "We were hoping that maybe you could come home with us, just to try it out, if you'd like."

He paused at that, looking at the couple, trying to see if they were serious. He saw that they were having trouble conceiving, and that they had been happily married for 7 years. He swallowed. They also meant what they said. His eyes dropped back to the floor and he nodded. The woman laughed lightly. "We're glad to have you, sweetheart. Do you have anything specific that you'd like to be called?"

Mycroft scuffed his feet against the floor. He wasn't sure if he could call himself Mycroft anymore. The Mycroft he had known had died along with his parents. He was an entirely different person. He couldn't stand the thought of still being _Mikey,_ the happy-go-lucky kid who had scored his first goal against his dad by faking a skinned knee and kicking the ball into the goal when his father wanted to make sure he was okay. "Mycroft," he said, his voice hoarse with disuse. "My name's Mycroft."

The social worker gasped and he closed his eyes, wishing he could just go back to his book. "Okay, Mycroft," the woman said. "Why don't you come with us while we finish the papers. You can finish your book. Spanish, is it?"

Mycroft nodded. " _Mi padre quería que yo aprendiera._ "

The woman nodded sadly and led him away and to the office where the papers would be filed for temporary guardianship, and, if everything worked out, they'd be permanent by the end of the month. Mycroft went back to his book. His throat hurt from talking and he didn't feel up to it anymore.

* * *

Mycroft saw the signs as Mr. and Mrs. Holmes found them. A missed period, a change in appetite, a different look in the eyes all pointed to one thing: Mrs. Holmes was pregnant. Mycroft tried not to let it bother him that he would soon be sent back to the social workers and adoption centers. At least he would always have the library, and maybe he could one day see the kid that was going to replace him. A weight on the other end of the couch alerted him that they were going to have "The Talk". He put his book down and looked to his guardians, saying quietly, "You're pregnant."

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes looked at each other awkwardly. "Well...yes. How did...? Never mind, a clever boy such as yourself _would_ know that," Mrs. Holmes sighed. "We just wanted to talk with you..." Mycroft braced himself. "About being an older brother."

Mycroft blinked. Frowned. Opened his mouth, and closed it again. The only two people he talked to in the world _weren't_ kicking him out? "...You're not...sending me away?"

Mr. Holmes laughed. "Goodness, no! Having another child isn't going to change anything between any of us! The baby will need more attention for a while, but we'll love you just as much."

This was a lot of information for a 6-year-old to take in, even if he was almost 7. He bit his lip and thought about it. These people weren't his parents, necessarily, but they weren't just his guardians either. Who's to say he couldn't have 2 sets of parents? If he wasn't about to be sent away, and these people were willing to care for him even before they knew he could speak, and they were fine with him not talking to anyone except them, in the safety of their house...well, that sounded like parents to him. But he couldn't call them Mum and Dad, those titles were reserved for his biological Mum and Dad. So what should he call them? "...Mike? You okay?" Mr. Holmes asked.

Mycroft nodded, and offered the two a small smile, something that even when talking before, he hadn't done. "Just...thinking. I'm glad I'll get to stay. Um..." How was he supposed to say this? "I think I'm going to take a shower. G'night, Mummy and Father."

He dashed away, red in the face but grinning, as the gobsmacked couple stared at him as he left for the bathroom. Sure, all hearts were broken. But they could mend, as well. He hoped he could teach his little brother or sister that someday.

**Author's Note:**

> In my mind here Sherlock accidentally hurts Mycroft a lot by either yelling at him when he leaves for Uni, or when he starts doing drugs and nearly OD's, making Mycroft forget about how broken hearts can mend themselves. Sorry for that dash of angst! ~~Not really sorry, though.~~


End file.
